Redemption's Cost
by jillyfae
Summary: Ingva Brosca and Alistair Theirin, falling in love, while absolutely everything that can go wrong, does go wrong. What else can you expect while you're looking for second chances and trying to save the World?
1. Orion's Belt

_*standard disclaimer here*_

_Dwarf meets Surface. Because I adore the dwarves of Thedas SO VERY VERY MUCH. :)_

* * *

Ingva Brosca was embarrassed to realize she was squeezing Warden Duncan's hand so tightly that she'd imprinted the pattern of his gauntlets into her own leather gloves. But, she kept looking up, and up kept going and going, _and were those white puffy things looking back at her?_, and those green prickly things pointing out of the ground _was that how trees grew?_ kept moving and blowing instead of staying properly still like stone was supposed to, and she wasn't completely sure she could breathe with all that extra air everywhere, and everything was moving, and it didn't smell right, and it was so bright and blue and high and…

"Ah, my apologies Brosca, I should have thought. I have traveled with surface dwarves, I'd heard about the vertigo. Come and sit…"

And slowly, through the spinning, she realized that he was leading her to a handy rock, his deep voice smoothing out her nerves. Was he apologizing? Warden Duncan, who'd saved her life, probably saved her ancestral soul if she had such a thing, was apologizing for… what? Witnessing her behave like an idiot?

_Actually, maybe that was worth an apology. Very gentlemanly, apologizing to a lady when you see her be, um, not at her best? Yes, very nice of him._ Ingva felt herself nodding slowly, and barely suppressed a much-too-close-to-hysterical giggle. Well, it had been a couple of days since she'd gotten any decent sleep, as she certainly couldn't count the guard induced 'nap' after her arena battle. She had to be suffering from something pretty severe to have just thought of herself as a lady, after all. With a snort at her own ridiculousness, Ingva realized the world had finally settled itself properly, with steady ground beneath her and a mountain at her back.

"Well, that was almost as entertaining as the arena parties at Tapster's. No funny aftertaste though." Ingva shook her head slowly in mock regret. "I think I'm disappointed in the show your surface world put on for me. It's just not the same without ogre piss lingering on your tongue." She shot a glance up at Duncan as she grinned nervously. She was relieved to catch a flicker of amusement in his eyes, hiding behind the heavy sigh as he reached a hand down to help her up.

"And yet again, I have subjected myself to a recruit whose mouth is faster than her brain. You're all very determined to keep fighting, however, so I guess I'll just have to put up with you."

Ingva felt her earlier suppressed giggle sneak out again in surprise at her new mentor's secret sense of humor. He had been so very imposing as he'd stared down the guards in Orzammar. She'd been worried he'd regret picking up a mouthy little dwarf just because she was good at hitting things. No matter how well she'd done smacking her fellow dwarves around the last few days, she didn't think it was any guarantee she could do the same to _darkspawn._

The reminder of the plague of the Deep Roads up on the surface, for a Blight, squashed the remnants of her manic mood, and she felt tiredness settle onto her shoulders. Glancing over at Duncan, Ingva noticed the glint of humor was impossible to find in his eyes, replaced by a sad shadow in their depths and worry lines crinkling at their sides.

She found she hadn't the heart to add to that by asking about the Grey Wardens, or darkspawn, or battle plans, or politics. Instead, she did her best to bring back that spark of humor by asking about that weird white stuff she'd been sitting on that made her leathers all wet. Warden Duncan's attempted explanation of snow also required an explanation of rain for contrast, and a discussion of weather in general, and Ingva found herself glancing anxiously up at the sky the rest of the day, wondering about these surfacers who walked so calmly under something that chucked water at them without warning.

As if to prove her point, the clouds grew gray and heavy, and she got her first experience with proper weather when it started to snow right as they were making camp that evening. On the one hand, her hand-me-down tent did not keep out the cold and wet very well, and the fire had been hard to make with fresh snow soaking into all the wood.

_They burned wood! It was just lying around, all over the ground, waiting to be picked up._

This rather strongly suggested that weather was bad, and something to be avoided whenever possible.

On the other hand, snow was surprisingly pretty, and it made the animal tracks stand out, and she discovered she really liked the taste of rabbit, and Warden Duncan even settled down by the fire and told her about his first Ferelden winter, since apparently Orlais didn't get nearly as much snow. Anything that helped Duncan relax had to be a good thing, in her not so humbly held opinions.

The next day found them far enough out of the Frostbacks for the snow to melt, so now she had to ask about grass, and trees, and wind, and sunlight, and why the sky was blue, and why humans didn't build their houses properly underground, or at least out of stone. (Ingva was rather relieved the surface world was so weird, since it made it easy to think of plenty of silly questions, rather than worrying the Warden Commander about duty and honor and sacrifice.) Duncan sighed, and occasionally smiled, and actually listened to and answered every single question. Ingva was rather in awe of his patience, as she was pretty sure she would've smacked herself by now if she'd had to listen to all that babbling. But a combination of nerves and determination to figure out his sense of humor meant she couldn't seem to stop the chatter from continuing.

Finally, after walking for way too many hours, the sun started setting, and they set up camp, and things grew dark, and she saw **stars**, and forgot how to talk.

And Duncan finally laughed, (she could tell, even if it was just with his eyes, not the slightest twitch of his face), and taught his new pupil about constellations.


	2. The Surface is Weird

_more surface shock, originally prompted by linahleahpersonal on tumblr 3_

* * *

"What's that?" Ingva swallowed, trying to keep her voice down so as not to alert the, the... _thing _at the other end of the clearing.

"Um." Alistair coughed softly behind her, and she turned to glare. Not that it was a very good glare. If anyone else had that smothered laughter sound in their voice when talking to her she'd be all set to smack them, but his eyes were soft even as his lips twitched, and he just such a bloody nice giant she was really very bad at being mad at him. "You walked right into the mabari pen to muzzle a strange dog almost as tall as you are, but you're worried about a deer?"

"He had very nice eyes, I'll have you know, and even I've heard of War Dogs." She suppressed the urge to pout. "What's a _deeer_?"

He coughed, again, and she seriously started reconsidering the hitting. Or possibly stabbing. She'd only stab him a little. Maybe in his arm. There had to be some healers back at camp; she'd just tell Commander Duncan it was an_ 'accident'._

"It's just a regular boring animal. They eat leaves. People hunt them. Venison's pretty tasty, actually."

Ingva narrowed her eyes, not completely sure if he was serious. It looked kinda skinny for eating. Then again, 'if I can chew it, it's food', was a pretty common duster motto. "Is it dangerous?"

"No." He snickered aloud that time, not even trying to hide it with a cough. "What do you think it's going to do to you, poke at you with its soft little nose?"

"No, I think it's could trample me with those hard pointy things it's got instead of feet. What is wrong with it's _legs_?"

"Hooves. They're called hooves. Have you never seen a horse?"

"Oh, yeah, we had lovely stables in Dust Town, right next to our manor, cause we had plenty of grass to feed them with?"

He actually blushed. Stone, that was... _not adorable. Not delightful. Kinda funny?_

"Oh. Right, sorry." There was the slightest hint of shrugged shoulders under his splintmail. "Grew up in the stables myself. Horses are... nice, really."

"Are they good eating too?"

"WHAT? Maker, no, you don't eat!" His eyes were wide as he stared at her, hands spread as if to push the words further away. "Don't ever say, no. Just no. No eating horses."

"Hmm." She shrugged, glancing back to see that the _deer_ that had started the whole conversation had bolted at some point, the clearing empty in the gloaming. She liked twilight. It was much more normal than all that bright sunlight. "Seems a waste. Everything should be for eating. Well, maybe not lichen. But if you say so."

"How about we stick to rabbit?" Alistair's voice was a little tight, but he had that bit of a smile again when she looked up at his face. "We all like rabbit."


	3. Distractions

_Who said love was sensible? Or serious? Or anything anyone had even the slightest bit of control over?_

* * *

**Ingva Brosca**

It was all Warden Duncan's fault. He'd gone and been reasonable and helpful all the way from Orzammar, so she hadn't suspected some devious trap when he'd told her to go find the newest Warden, Alistair. But it obviously _was_ a trap because when she'd found him she'd almost stumbled over her own feet listening to him babble at the angry mage because she'd never met anyone who was just as good at saying the silliest least sensible thing as she was and it did something impossibly complicated to the feeling in the pit of her gut and she'd _smiled_ at him. Without even thinking about it. Or checking her dagger.

And he was so bloody tall. Tall as a paragon statue, now that she'd finally see them when she got hustled out of Orzammar, and well, everyone was tall, humans and elves everywhere being all skinny and too high above the ground but only around him did she actually feel short. Deliciously wonderfully short, like he could wrap his body all the way around...

And that smile, and the shy little light in his eyes when he made her laugh, like her opinion was actually important, and how he stood as sturdy as Stone behind that shield of his, shrugging off hits that shoulda sent him sprawling...

_Ancestors, what is wrong with me?_

Well, she knew perfectly well what was wrong with her, what with watching her mother rut the neighbors when she'd run out of coin to buy her own ale, and Rica training to be a noble hunter and all, but she'd never actually felt any particular desire to invite anyone else between her legs as her hands were pretty good at getting the job done. Plus, most dusters were likely to get their own off and leave her hanging, in her opinion, if she'd even managed to find one who was interested in her rather than her sister anyways, so why did she keep wondering what the human looked like under his armor, or what those deliciously calloused hands would feel like against her skin?

_His fingers are just so big, broad and strong, with wide blunt tips..._ Stone, she was going to start blushing and stammering next time he talked to her, at this rate.

_Pretend you're fine._ But apparently she wasn't nearly as good at hiding what she was thinking as she used to be, because now he was looking at her, and his eyes were smiling, and people weren't generally nice, especially to her, unless they wanted something. But he apparently really just wanted to be sure she was alright.

What was she supposed to do with that? How was that not the most amazing thing that had ever happened to her? First Warden Duncan taking her under his wing like she was important, and then Warden Alistair smiling at her like he cared? She forced herself to smile back at him like really she wasn't trying to imagine if humans were as big everywhere as they were tall and...

"Wolves!" Daveth's warning shout rang out, and thank every bloody ancestor EVER she could go kill things now and stop thinking.

* * *

**Alistair Theirin**

"STONE!" The woman in front of him shouted in frustration, stopping for a moment right in front of him as yet another apparently solid path actually _wasn't_. "Rocks, gravel, pebbles... SAND!" Her growl was accompanied by a truly unpleasant squelching sound as her foot descended back into the mud.

She thought yelling "sand" was swearing. And she stomped her foot when she was mad. How cute was that? Oh, wait, she still had a dagger in her hand. _Don't tell her you think she's cute, she'll gut you._

Alistair was desperately embarrassed by how ineffective that line of thought was in discouraging the, well, you-know-what, heating up his blood and heading dangerously close to his groin. In fact, he was pretty sure the whole very sharp and deadly part was adding to the problem and wasn't he glad he had nice thick armor and how was he ever going to tell the woman he _liked_ her if he couldn't even think a simple word like desire in the privacy of his own head?

He wasn't, that's what. He was destined to die a cold and lonely virgin, devoured by wolves or bears or giant spiders some stormy night in this Maker-forsaken swamp.

Or else the witch was going to kill him before they got to Lothering.

Unless he killed her first.

Which would be a lovely idea if not for the fact that she was the only one who knew how to get out of the Wilds, and his fellow Warden had made it very clear they needed all the help they could get (which of course was so very true and he couldn't argue in the slightest even if he wanted to) and he wasn't even to THINK of causing trouble with the nice lady who'd helped save their lives and could make fire with her fingertips, thank you very much.

Ingva, _such a pretty name, not like any I've ev er heard before, and wait, not helping._ Brosca, yes, that was better, comrade-like, not girl-like, not that girls didn't make very good comrades, because obviously, it was just, she was so ...

She was very fond of fire, and very not-fond of rain and was seriously lacking a proper understanding of how very very _bad_ wild magic was.

Probably because of the lack of both weather and scary-potential-maleficars underground, but still. Was the presence of fire really a good enough reason to trust the apostate? He didn't think so.

Which just meant he had to keep an eye on her.

Which was not nearly as much fun as keeping an eye on the dwarf, no wait, that wasn't the word she used, on the _dwarva_ who was still muttering softly under her breath as she slid her way through the mud. The extra slither in her step did wonderful things to the curve of her backside...

_Andraste's Flaming Sword_, he was destined for the Void at this rate.

But she'd actually been happy to meet him, and he'd realized she was quite the most delicious looking handful of curves he'd ever seen, and there was something very _very_ wrong with him, that the thought of how very much of her small body would fit in his hands was positively intoxicating.

She'd even laughed at his jokes, and she was really very very good at killing monsters, which he hadn't even realized was something he _enjoyed_ in a woman 'til she'd grinned triumphantly at him over her first dead Darkspawn after leaving camp at Ostagar and he'd rather forgotten how to breathe for a moment, and how was he supposed to find any of that any less than irresistible?

Well, there was that whole Blight thing. Yes. Archdemon. Definitely a mood-killer. He was a Grey Warden. He could remember the Archdemon long enough to do his job and by then he'd either be dead or they'd have saved the world and maybe she'd agree to have a drink of ale with him or something?

Yeah.

That was a horrible plan. He was pathetic.

But, it was good enough to distract him from thinking about everything that had gone wrong, and could still go wrong, and how very dead they were all likely to be even without the bitch apostate betraying them sometime soon, and how ill-prepared he was to be the Senior Warden and _Maker's Breath_ he missed Duncan.

_Well, that worked._

Sighing unhappily through his nose, Alistair turned his gaze toward Morrigan again, waiting to see where the hopefully-not-actually-demon-ridden witch was leading them now.

* * *

**Ingva Brosca**

When had she gone and been stupid enough to fall in love? Yes, lust, she'd fallen in lust at first sight, which hadn't been particularly smart either, but the luxury of having a tent to herself meant she could just rub one out most nights, but love? With a human? A giant, gorgeous, sweet, delectable...

_Stop that._

He was just so bloody nice. _And big._ It shouldn't be possible for one person to be that nice without also being an idiot. And he wasn't. An idiot, that is. He obviously didn't realize how smart he was, or he hadn't, but he was starting to, starting to notice how often he was explaining the Surface to her, how frequently he knew the best place to camp, or where to put Leliana so she'd do the most damage and not get stomped by angry bandits or darkspawn. _Not that Leliana's easy to stomp, of course._

Ingva was quite good at killing things, yes, but she hadn't ever had much opportunity to play nice with others, after all. Alistair, however, actually knew what he was doing, and often had a damn fine plan for their next move.

So, yeah, maybe he wasn't very good at talking to people, as he was convinced he wasn't supposed to put himself forward or something silly like that, _damn Eamon, anyways_, so he wasn't very persuasive, _except for me, he could persuade me into_ anything _if he'd just try_, but she was perfectly happy to grin and wave her dagger around until everyone they ran into gave up and agreed with her.

It was quite amazing how effective a _dwarva_ with a sharp pointy weapon could be when dealing with humans and elves. Probably because her weapon waving was rather about groin height on most men. That seemed to make them nervous. Being about stomach height on most women was almost as good, too. No one liked a gut wound.

* * *

**Alistair Theirin**

_Maker_, she was grinning again. That wicked little grin that usually presaged someone getting hurt. Badly. What was broken in his head that the sight of it was making all the blood flee his brain in favor of, other, more southerly, places?

He prided himself on being a gentleman, on being nice, on not taking advantage, and he had no idea what to do with these layers and layers of _want_ that kept slipping through his blood and his brain and his imagination when he was alone in his tent at night and could no longer resist the need to do _something_ about all that frustration every day.

And he always thought about _her_ when he did that, too. Was that creepy of him? He was pretty sure that was creepy. _Void._

He'd long since wandered past the point of thinking she was pretty and he liked her, to realizing she was the most amazing woman he'd ever met and he was desperately in love with her and wanted to spend every night he had left with her, but every time he tried to tell her even just that she had nice eyes his throat swelled up and he forgot how to not trip over his own feet.

Though, he did usually manage to make a stupid joke, which made her laugh, which was _spectacular_, her body loose and her eyes bright as she stared right at him, only him. But then he never followed it up with anything useful so she went back to whatever she was doing before he awkwardly interrupted her, and that was dreadful.

He bet her lips tasted wonderful.

He bet, after all this time dithering, if he ever _did_ get to kiss her he'd then attempt something stupid like shoving them both into the nearest tent, and as he'd never actually done that sort of thing he'd probably be horrible at it and she'd never let him touch her again and that would be worse than dreadful.

_Maybe the Archdemon will eat me, and I won't have to worry about embarrassing myself any more?_

He needed a plan. A purpose. An excuse?

_A rose._

Well, that was bloody brilliant, why hadn't he thought of that ages ago?

* * *

**Ingva Brosca**

_Beauty in the darkness._

She wasn't sure she could remember how to breathe. There was too much air up on the Surface, no proper Stone to hold it in. She was dizzy. Liable to fall up any moment. Only Scabbler on her feet was holding her down.

Well, and the tent, now that she'd escaped inside so no one would see her blushing like a child just because...

_He thinks I'm beautiful. No one thinks I'm beautiful. _

_Well, Zevran says I'm beautiful, but I'm pretty sure he could flirt with a Paragon statue and make the Stone squirm. _

_Rica's the pretty one. I'm the one you hire to hit things._

_He likes that I hit things?_

That was just...

Not how the world worked, was it? That someone could like you for who you were, what you did, not how well you put on a show, not what you could do for them?

Her chest hurt. Too much air. Heart beating too hard. Too much.

She'd said something silly, she was sure. He'd laughed. She loved his laugh.

Had she told him that? Had she told him how amazing he was? Did he realize she was doing this for him? Blights made things a bit easier below-ground, after all. If all she had left was Rica she'd be tempted to take her time with the treaties, give Orzammar a bit of a break.

_Put off going back there as long as possible. Forever, even?_

But she couldn't do that. Not with him. He deserved better.

_He deserves to have the breath snogged out of him until he's more breathless than I am now._

Well. That was a splendid idea, actually. She could do that.

_Just have to make sure he's sitting down. Or that I knock him over..._

Stone.

That was a glorious thought. All that height and breadth and width sprawled down where she could climb all over him...

Yes. Definitely. Snogging. Tomorrow.

She smiled.


	4. Once Upon A Time

_story time! It's all Oghren's fault. Sort-of._

* * *

"Balls of granite, you've got, Templar."

"What?!" Alistair looked up at Oghren in horror, desperately hoping some other Templar had somehow wandered by the campsite _completely avoiding the qunari and the golem on guard?_ and caught the dwarf's attention.

"Romancing the Scabbler, there."

"Really, Alistair, Scabbler?" Zevran's silken voice joined in with delight. "That is so … cosmopolitan of you. I didn't think you had it in you. I suppose for Fereldans, though, that might be thought provincial. You and your dogs, after all."

"The Mabari?" Alistair squeaked. He admitted it. He'd been expecting another attack on his supposed prowess for bedding their fearless leader, not that it was anyone else's business but his and Ingva's, thank you very much, and had no idea how the dog got involved with that. It seemed a bit extreme even for Oghren. _Not Zevran though._

He shot one desperate glance across the clearing, relieved to discover the creepy Witch was, once again, far off by herself reading the book Ingva had agreed to kill her even creepier mother to get, and he didn't have to worry about her adding to an already awkward conversation.

"She named her dog Scabbler?" Oghren's hearty laugh echoed across the campfire, as Alistair looked over at Ingva in confusion. Which got even worse as he noticed she was scowling uncomfortably, one hand wrapped tightly around the dog's collar. _Ingva, embarrassed? She doesn't get embarrassed, she gets mad and hits things. What, by Andraste's Flaming Sword, is Oghren going on about?_

"Yes, she named the dog Scabbler." Leliana's lilting voice chimed in as she glanced from the amused dwarf to the nervous one, over to the bewildered human and the grinning elf, and back around the campfire again, obviously wanting to hear a story to explain it all. "She said it was a mining tool, used to break up stones. Said she'd seen him do the same thing to darkspawn."

Oghren's laugh had dropped down to a chuckle as he shook his head in some sort of bemused disbelief. "She never told you? Really? Such a good story. Think she'd be proud. I'd be proud, Scabbler!" The last bit was shouted gleefully at his fellow dwarf.

The mabari lifted his head from where he rested by Ingva's feet and barked once at Oghren, as if reminding him to stop getting his master's name confused with his own, before settling back down with a comfortable huff.

"Told us what?" Alistair tried not to whine at Oghren. _Ingva would've told me if it was important, right? She wouldn't be keeping things from me, not after I told her about Maric, and Eamon, and Goldanna? Would she?_

"Oh, screw the Ancestor's sideways, I knew I shoulda left you in Orzammar." Ingva's voice was oddly strangled sounding, and she was blushing a red almost as dark as her sister's hai r. "Just spit it out already, Oghren." She stared stubbornly down at the head of the dog she was petting, refusing to look at anyone in the circle around her.

Alistair's nerves were practically shooting sparks through him now, and he started to get up to go sit next to Ingva, but Leliana put a hand to his shoulder and shook her head. _Wait,_ she seemed to be saying, and he settled uncomfortably back on the ground to do just that, keeping an eye on his beloved across the campfire.

"You're no fun." Oghren's volatile mood had swung to sulky. "Never thought the Scabbler'd be so embarrassed by her own fame."

"She's famous?" Leliana sounded delighted, but Alistair could feel his body tensing in unpleasant anticipation. _This sounds important._

"In Orzammar, she is. Surprised she didn't introduce herself properly to all those arrogant noble arses she had to deal with." Oghren took a swig from his ever-present drink and be lched contentedly. "Mighta eased things along."

"Eased?" Ingva squawked, lifting her head to glare at Oghren. _Thank the Maker, she's getting mad. I can handle her mad. I like her mad._ "They woulda lynched me!"

"Nah, the nobles were all rather pleased you stopped the short-witted rock-licker from playin' his nasty games. Never coulda admitted it to a duster, but a Grey Warden? You must be a little proud of yourself, Brosca, or you never woulda named the mutt Scabbler, now wouldya?"

"Well, course," she muttered, and shrugged her shoulders, but Alistair saw the hint of the evil smile that tended to appear after she'd smacked someone particularly stupid around, and felt his muscles relax. _That's my girl. Wonder who she broke into well-deserved little pieces?_ "Doesn't mean I ever thought anyone else was proud. Beraht managed to add us to his own reputation, but I always figured someone'd come after me for it even tually."

"Would one of you please just start at the beginning?" Leliana's plaintive voice interrupted. Alistair smiled slightly to himself to realize their roles had been reversed, Leliana dying for answers while he was content now to sit back and enjoy the story.

"Well, Rica was always the pretty one, even when we were young," Ingva paused as almost identical snorts of derision came from both Alistair and Zevran. The two shared a rare moment of companionship, glancing at each other in amusement. _Silly woman has no idea how glorious she is, does she?_

"Um," Ingva continued, uncomfortably ignoring their attention, "Beraht was hoping she'd turn out well, so the various smaller cartas left us alone to avoid getting on his bad side. Had to avoid the slummers though, as they were too stupid to know who was who in Dust Town."

"Common problem with nobles." Oghren nodded seriously. "Don't have the sense the Stone bred into nugs."

"Schmooples is very smart!" Leliana interrupted indignantly. "What?" she asked, as the entire group stared at her.

"Um," Ingva paused for a moment, as if the thought of a smart Schmooples had caused a mental rockslide, and nothing else could get through the rubble.

"Slummers," Zevran prompted helpfully. "The eternal, predictable stupidity of the arrogant and bored."

"Right." She shook her head briskly, making her ponytail bounce.

_Hmm, her hair would make such a nice handle … wait, no, listening to story-time. Right. Bad Alistair. Bad, bad, lovely Ingva. Stop. Wrong way again._

"There was this particular son-of-a-bronto we'd seen a few times around Dust Town, but no one was quite sure what he was looking for. He seemed too stupid to worry about, prancing around all alone, his coin pouch dangling right off his belt in full view. And his clothes! Not a metal hook or gem on them, all surface cloth, with wooden buttons. Wood!"

Zevran and Leliana shared a slightly bemused glance, before Alistair reminded them helpfully, "no trees underground".

Oghren shuddered theatrically. "How you surfacers go about, ignoring all these nasty trees, I'll never understand. They move when you're not watching. They whisper when the air moves by. Don't stand still like proper Stone."

"Stone in Dust Town moves when you're not watching." Ingva's voice was bitter. "Cave-ins, collapsing buildings. No one cares if the walls fall on a bunch of dusters. Only time something gets repaired is if it catches someone else in the rock-slide."

"And this particular someone else?" Leliana prompted again, impatient for the actual story.

"Right. Rock-licker. Strolled into our house, calm as you please, taking off his gloves and smiling at us. Like we were stupid enough to fall for that. Told me 'n' Leske to be good little children and leave the grown-ups alone for the afternoon. Which apparently meant Rica, as Ma was out. Gotten her hands on some coin, went to get a proper drink rather than the lichen-ale she usually stole from the neighbors."

"Aaaah," Zevran sighed, his eyes bright and hard. "Convenient timing, your mother's windfall, yes?"

Ingva glared at him, her mouth and eyebrows tight, her shrug slight and noncommittal. "Probably. Never asked where she got it. Didn't want to know. Not as if we had anywhere else to go if she had… well. You know."

_If she had, what?_ Alistair tried not to scowl, not to follow that thought through to its nasty conclusion. _Their own mother? For a drink?_

"Bah, you don't know how to tell a story, Brosca!" Oghren interrupted the tense silence as everyone tried not to voice an opinion of Kalah Brosca out loud. "You told me to spit it out, and here you are, dancing around the tale like you're ashamed! You're the only one comes out well in it, ya know."

"You don't like how I remember things, you tell it then, ya drunken lout." Ingva scowled, crossing her arms over her chest.

"My pleasure." Oghren took another swig, before leaning back. "Thing you gotta know, is, rock-licker wasn't any old merchant or baby-noble slummer, but a cousin of the Aeducan's themselves, with a chest full of secrets. Everyone knew that he liked unwilling girlies, but he was too good at the politics to call out on it. So they just kept their daughters away from him."

"Didn't bother keepin' him away from no one else." Ingva muttered balefully.

Oghren shrugged. "Them, worry 'bout somethin' past their own doorway? Nah. Why no one'd help me find Branka either. Lazy buggers. Serve 'em all right when the darkspawn finally overwhelm Orzammar. Only a matter o'time."

The latest grim silence was broken by Wynne's approach out of the darkness as s he settled down to sit next to their young leader. "How old were you and Rica, Ingva?"

"Dunno," Ingva shrugged, apparently unsurprised the mage had abandoned her potion making to join them. "Not sure how old I am now. Not like Ma told us our birthdays, or kept track of the days, or anything."

"You don't? You poor …" Leliana started, before Zevran kicked her foot from his perch on a nearby stone. "What?" She turned to the elf, an indignant look on her face, but he successfully stared her into silence.

"Hmm," Wynne refrained from commenting. "About how long ago, then?"

Ingva shifted again, more noticeably, and peered at Wynne past the loose strands of hair that always fell out of her ponytail. "Why's it matter? Over and done with. Rica got herself into a Noble House, I'm a Grey Warden 'stead of a duster, we're both fine now."

"Would you begrudge an old lady her curiosity?"

"Course not. Stone only knows though. It's hard to keep track of years in Dust Town. Maybe ten?"

Alistair's hands tightened into fists at his sides. _Ten?! She can't be past twenty, now, so she was what, nine, ten? And Rica's not much older. That scum was after an eleven or twelve year old girl?_ Restless with a simmering rage much too late to be useful, he stood up and started pacing around the campfire, trying desperately not to snarl and hit something. He vaguely noticed Leliana shifting, lightly fingering the strap that usually held her quiver, and Zevran's lip curling in an impressively nasty smirk. Even Wynne was tense as he stalked by, her head raised as she looked down her nose at nothing in particular, apparently wishing there were some handy dwarven targets to capture in a Crushing Prison.

Ingva stared uncomfortably up at the sky as she continued, apparently finding it easier to deal with the stars than her companions' emotions on her behalf. "So, Leske ran, but I didn't wanna leave Rica alone with the nug-humper. Grabbed Ma's hammer, and told him to get out." She sighed, almost nostalgically. "The only thing Ma wouldn't sell. Told me my father fought with it. Rica thought Grandpa stole it though, and Ma told Leske, right after she slapped him for daring to try and touch it, that her brother made it 'fore he died. Actually kept it up on the wall, like it was a trophy, something pretty-like, rather than an old dirty hammer with a cracked handle."

Alistair couldn't resist the mental image of a tiny little Ingva, brandishing a hammer at a monster; the rush of pride he felt for her washing the anger down somewhere deep, where he could ignore it for the time being. He stepped carefully around the Mabari's bulk and settled down next to her on her log, opposite Wynne, gently tugging until her fingers tangled around his own.

She didn't look at him, but her hand clenched tightly on his at the s ame moment her shoulders relaxed, her gaze dropping back down to the group. "Stone-cursed idiot just laughed at me, said I wasn't his type, but he'd let me watch, if I wanted." She spat into the flames in disgust. "Backhanded me, then turned away, smiling. Smiling at Rica, as if she'd invited him in, even when she grabbed half a brick and chucked it at his head. He just laughed and gave her a good smack too." She snorted. "Didn't hit as hard as Ma, though, so it's not like either of us stayed down. He just kept following Rica as she scrambled backwards across the floor, distracting him as she looked for something else to throw. Didn't even turn 'round as I caught up." She paused, a nasty smile hovering around her lips at the memory. "Finally scuffed my foot so he'd hear me. Looked back, not even upset, convinced he could just give me another hit and get back to his fun. Swung that hammer as hard as I could right up between his legs. Broke the handle completely. He fell to the floor almost faster than the hammer head, gasping and retching and turning red, all curled up 'round himself."

Leliana's beautiful laugh had an edge almost as vicious as Ingva's smile had been, and was followed by Zevran's slow applause. "Brava, dear Ingva, brava."

Ingva flashed a quick glance at Alistair, her eyes wide, her hand still tight around his. _That wasn't the hard part of the story, was it?_ He leaned in close, whispering in her ear, "you can stop now, you know. It's your story, you can share it when and how you want to, not just because Oghren provoked you."

She closed her eyes, briefly, but he couldn't tell if it was relief, disappointment, or something else entirely trying to overwhelm her. She gave his hand an extra squeeze and silently mouthed 'later' in his direction before opening her eyes back up and looking over at Oghren. "Good enough for ya, finally?"

Oghren sighed contentedly. "Good enough. Poor fella was so embarrassed he got beat by a little girl. No one knew her name, but one of his guards had apparently gotten tired of covering for the nug-humper and leaked the tale of some duster who showed him up, calling her Scabbler, as no one was gonna be able to put the idiot noble back together again after that. Shamed him horribly. Locked himself up at home to sulk, hide his face. Died a few months later. No one was sure if it was suicide, or if he'd tried something on the wrong someone and finally got taken out for his trouble. Best thing to ever happen to the girls of Orzammar, either way. Made the nobles happy, too, since no one knew where he'd hid his chest of secrets. And all thanks to Brosca here." He raised his drink in a toast to the other dwarf, but Ingva interrupted before he could gulp it down.

"How'd you figure out I was Scabbler?"

"Part o'the story. Scabbler was half a set, a pair of sisters Beraht had claimed. No one messed with them, or him, after she got away with smacking a noble down. Mebbe how Rica caught Bhelen's attention. Made her famous, too." He shrugged. "'Course no one said nothing to you or they'd have had to admit the Warden used to be a casteless." He finally managed to finish his drink, another belch echoing out after he was done. "Off to empty out some room 'fore I get a refill. Night, wenches." He staggered off behind a tree, the sound of his piss hitting the trunk faintly audible all the way back by the campfire.

Various muttered sounds of disgust spread through the group as they slowly shifted from their spots. Leliana simply nodded good-night, while Zevran bowed ostentatiously, grinning at Ingva as she chuckled slightly in reaction. Wynne patted her gently on the shoulder before she left.

Alistair stayed, letting go of her hand so he could wrap his arm around her shoulders and pull her close against his side.

"You all right, love?" He shifted slightly, speaking quietly right above her head where it rested against his side, below his chin. He pretended he didn't see her hand reach up and rub her nose, or hear the suppressed sniffle that followed.

"Sure. 'Course. Fine. Let's just go to bed. M'tired."

"As my lady commands." He grinned at her gasp as he scooped her up in his arms. "Stay, Scabbler," he ordered the mabari, and pushed Ingva into their tent, squirming in afterwards and tying it shut behind them. He heard the rustle and saw the shadow when the dog moved to settle across the opening with one short bark in protest, only mostly resigned to his new station outside his master's bed. _Which is not nearly big enough for three._

Sliding around on his knees, he saw Ingva hunched over in the middle of the tent as if her armor was suddenly too heavy for her, staring blankly down at the ground, the dim light of the campfire through the walls of the tent causing shadows to dance around her.

"Come on now, arms up," Alistair suggested softly, reaching out to undo her armor.

"Hmmm," she muttered, her arms shifting just a little as her gaze stayed blankly focused on the blanket beneath her.

Alistair heard himself softly babbling some nonsense about getting her comfortable as he worked, and how it was much too nice a night for all these layers, and did they want to buy some more blankets or pillows when they got to Denerim?

She didn't respond beyond a slight grunt of agreement to the last question, but she seemed to grow a bit less pale as he fussed, and as soon as he'd finished with his own armor she crawled into his lap and wrapped her arms around him with a sigh.

"Hmmm," he mumbled back, enveloping her in his own arms in response. "Much nicer without all those pokey metal bits in the way."

He was pleasantly surprised to hear her giggle. _There now, that's even better._

"Some pokey things are good, though, Alistair." As she lifted her head towards him, he saw her teeth flash in a quick grin right before she yanked his head down to hers for a kiss.

And her ponytail really did make an excellent handle.

The campfire had dimmed down to coals, judging by how dark the shadows were in the tent. Alistair had heard Scabbler growl at some passing footsteps, so apparently the mabari had decided Ingva needed a night off from watch duty. _So I get the night off too, lucky me. Dog seems to think I should be helping Ingva. Will do my best._ The dog frequently gave the impression he was herding puppies through the Blight, and that the people's attempts to be in charge were simply a handy illusion he let them use to make themselves more comfortable with the situation.

"I can tell you're awake," Ingva's soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Really?" Alistair asked equally softly. "How'd I give myself away?"

"Your hand usually stops stroking my breast once you're asleep."

"It does? Silly hand." The hand in question gave her breast a proper squeeze in an attempt to redeem itself, surprising a squeaky giggle out of the dwarf in reaction.

Shifting up on his elbow, Alistair let his hand slide down across Ingva's stomach as he spoke up again, more seriously this time. "Scabbler's worried about you, you know. And it is later."

"It is," Ingva agreed slowly. He couldn't really see her face in the dim light, but she sounded uncomfortable, so he dropped a soft kiss on her cheek for encouragement before settling back to wait through her silence.

"Hmm," she paused, and he felt her muscles tense a little under his hand. "Dunno where to start."

"Take your time and tell me whatever you want, love. I'm not going anywhere. No hurry. You broke your mother's hammer, and?"

"And his guards charged in."

"Guards?" Alistair's voice seemed very loud in the quiet tent, and he forced himself back down to a murmur as he asked again, "guards?"

"Yeah. Was a reason he got away with the belt purse, and just charging in wherever he wanted. Had good guards, hiding around Dust Town, and at least one right by to call for help if he heard something suspicious."

"Which he did, with the gurgling and the gasping and the falling to the ground?"

"Yeah." Ingva was quiet again. "Leske saved us, you know?"

Alistair closed his eyes in reaction to the pain in her voice. _Maker's Breath, why'd you have to turn on her, you stupid dwarf? She loved you. And now she hates herself, because you're dead._ He flexed the arm his head was propped on, remembering the crack as she'd accidentally broken it when he'd had to drag her away from Leske's body. _Should've known better than to startle her with her weapons still out. Lucky she didn't hit anything more vital than a bone Wynne could fix._

"How'd he save you, love?" Alistair felt his voice creak as he forced the words out, opening his eyes to the distressing sight of her rubbing her own eyes and nose.

"He got Beraht's men."

"Beraht helped against a noble?"

"Yeah. Interrupted the guards, paid 'em off, then pointed out to the gasping nug-shit on the ground how bad it'd look he needed help. 'Specially since he hadn't even gotten what he wanted in the first place." Alistair felt her shrug, as if she could hear and was responding to his silent surprise. "Rica was valuable. Nothin' better than getting himself up into a noble House. And nothin' worse than a noble getting into trouble in Dust Town. That'd be Bad for Business. Two nugs with one trap, getting the mess swept off the street. 'Sides, Oghren's right. Needing six guards to hurt the little duster girls who stood up to him was too embarrassing to let out."

"SIX?" That time Alistair didn't even attempt to suppress the yell, ignoring the dog's answering bark and a couple surprised grumbles from somewhere outside. "Andraste's Flaming _Sword_," he whispered, feeling the rage and panic from earlier sweep back at the thought, despite knowing she was obviously just fine, since she was here telling him the story.

"Well, took two of 'em to grab Rica. She was screamin' like a shriek, trying to claw her way over t'me. And then the other four surrounded me and my stick. Broken hammer handle. Thing. Didn't stand a chance."

"Four?" _That really isn't much better, love._ He couldn't handle the distance between them anymore, and struggled up into a sitting position, sweeping Ingva into his lap and yanking a blanket awkwardly around them both. "My poor Ingva. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Why're you sorry?" Her voice was muffled, her head tucked down against his chest. "Leske got back before I had more than nasty bruises and a coupla cracked ribs. Not your fault Dust Town's, well, Dust Town."

He loosened his arms briefly to nudge her face up to look at him. "But I made you go back, and on top of all the many reasons you hated the place, he's dead now too."

She snorted. "Yeah, you're the one found an Archdemon and killed Commander Duncan, leavin' us the only Wardens around to call in the treaties. And then you snuck around Dust Town, 'cause you're so short and inconspicuous in Orzammar, and talked Leske into siding with Jarvia against me. All your fault. Idiot." Her voice caught slightly as her hand moved up to stroke his jaw, the gentle touch in direct contrast to her rough words.

Alistair's own hand reached over to smooth some of her loose strands of hair behind her ear. He barely resisted pretending surprise at his own inconvenient height. _Serious. I can be serious. This is important._ "You never got to mourn him, love. Had to leave him there for the guards."

Ingva sighed, her hand and eyes dropping from his face as she leaned against his chest again. "Every time you call me love, my heart aches. In a good way. Love you too. Only person I've ever met who'd apologize for somethin' that wasn't his fault, just cuz he was sorry I got hurt. Don't deserve you."

"Now you're the idiot." Alistair whispered back. "You deserve better than me. Not that I'm letting you go to try and find such a person." He hugged her a little tighter at the thought. "And you're changing the subject. Not that I'm complaining, what with the 'love you too' and thinking I'm awesome and all. Just observing. Want to help you. And I am sorry about your friend. I wish I could've saved him for you."

"Leske coulda saved his own stupid arse, if he'd wanted. He's the one told me to leave when Duncan offered. I always listened to him. I was his look-out ever since we started begging and stealing, even 'fore Beraht had us workin' for him." She shrugged, her voice melancholy, but no longer hard and bitter. "Stone-cursed idiot. No clue why he didn't think I'd still back him up, when I came back."

"Jealous, I'd guess. Know how he felt, a bit. I was jealous, when you first ran into him in Dust Town."

"What? Of me and Leske?" Ingva pulled back a little, apparently attempting to glare at him in the darkness. "Yuck. That'd be like snogging my brother, if I had one. That thought is worse than the vilest nug joke I ever heard at Tapsters."

"Well, I figured that out. But still, he knew you. Known you your whole life, knew where you came from, understood how you think. And you were so happy to see him, and Rica, and you have a connection with them I've never had with anyone."

"Then why didn't he trust me? Why'd he make me kill him? I keep thinkin' in my head I woulda done the same thing, sided w/Jarvia to stay alive, but I dunno 'bout that last step. I didn't wanna fight him."

"I don't think he wanted to fight either, love. He seemed sad, that last conversation you had." Alistair paused, one hand rubbing up and down Ingva's back as he tried to put a gut feeling into words for her. "He just didn't think he had a choice. When you left, became a Warden, you weren't his partner anymore. You had people following you, people who had your back, but not his. They even let you into the Diamond Quarter. You practically squealed in shock at that, yourself. And you'd had months on the surface to break you of your duster habits. He was still trapped in Dust Town. All he could see was that you weren't."

"And it's not worth fighting for anyone, 'specially if they're not a duster, cause they're just gonna use you up, without even giving you back to the Stone when they're done." Ingva's whispered phrase swung its way off her tongue as if she was repeating a well-learned lesson. Though one a bit grimmer than the history lessons Alistair had always failed to memorize.

"He'd never had Duncan show him there could be more than that."

"He never had someone like you," Ingva retorted, "who kept trying to rescue everyone, all the time, 'til he realized it wasn't a bad way to do things."

"You're the one who wandered into a war dog's pen right after I met you, just so the poor kennel master didn't have to put him down. Think you already wanted to rescue everyone, all on your own. Just needed the chance."

"Nah, was tryin' to prove to the crazy humans I was as tough as they were. Tougher even."

"No doubts on that. Definitely tougher. You've done so much for all of us, for me." He paused, grinning. "To me, even." He couldn't resist a slight tickle down her sides to her hips, pausing to listen to her snicker and enjoy her squirm across his lap. "Where was I? Right. You're amazing."

"Ha. All I've ever done is be too stupid to know when to quit. Or shut my mouth." Her hand moved back up to cover his mouth when it started to open to argue with her. "And we're just gonna have to disagree on this one."

"Whole camp would disagree with that one," he suggested as soon as her hand dropped. "Certainly not the same _way_ I'm planning on disagreeing with you," his hands found her bare bottom and squeezed, before lifting and moving her around so she could straddle his lap, "but they're all loyal to you. Not the Wardens or Ferelden as a whole, but you. Just you." He found her lips with his own and kissed her, gentle but thorough, taking his time, feeling her entire body relax against his. He pulled away just far enough to whisper against her lips, "always you."

"Still talkin' bout the whole camp, there, Alistair?" He could feel her lips curve into a grin as she whispered back.

"No," he answered simply. "Just us, you and me, together for as long as possible. Forever, Maker willing."

"Like that. And if the Ancestors let me into the Stone after I die, I'm dragging you with me. A little human company'll be good for 'em."

Alistair chuckled softly. "That was downright romantic, coming from you."

"Screw romance." She squirmed across his lap again, settling herself firmly above his hips. "Bet you can't make me yell so loud I wake the whole camp up."

"I adore a challenge."


	5. Consequences

_KJ requested Brosca and drunk!fic from the AU meme. And, well, I wrote something that fits into Ingva and Alistair's canon instead. Oops._

* * *

The archdemon was dead.

Loghain was dead.

A hero's death.

_Redemption in death._

Always and only in death.

She was still alive though.

Alistair was alive.

_Might forgive me once I'm dead._

It was his wedding night.

A marriage she'd convinced him was wise, not so very long ago.

_"If his brother couldn't knock you up for all those years, it's not bloody likely a Grey Warden will manage it." Ingva knew she failed at delicacy, so at least she'd made sure they'd had this conversation in private._

_"Are you alright with that?" Alistair had kept his face and voice smooth, but his hand had been wrapped so very tightly around her smaller one. "A marriage in name, only?"_

_"For the good of Ferelden?" Anora was smooth, and cool, and brilliant. Ingva rather liked her. "As long as you are... discreet." She shrugged slightly, any other thoughts or emotions hidden behind clear eyes and a straight gaze. "It is enough."_

Ingva was having difficulty not wondering if that was still the plan, now that she was no longer in the way of the royal marriage bed.

Perhaps she needed more ale.

Lots more ale.


	6. Temptation

_A/N: Horribly out of order, this is from a prompt on tumblr, sometime before Alistair and Ingva figure out they're actually in love with each other._

* * *

"Oooh, I haven't seen this in years!" Leliana's light voice rose above the general low murmur of the marketplace. Alistair turned to find what had caused the extra lilt in her voice, but could only see her leaning in to talk to an orlesian merchant surrounded by what looked liked small churns in tubs of ice. Lots of ice, so much ice it was still mostly solid despite the heat bearing down on them all.

Not that ice didn't sound lovely, considering the weight of his mail on his shoulders and the itchy feelng across the bridge of his nose that generally meant it was about to start peeling again any day now. But ice was certainly something Leliana had seen not that long ago, so that obviously wasn't the cause of her excitement.

He felt a sharp jab against his side, and tilted his head to see Ingva glaring at him, her view blocked by the 'stupid humans' surrounding her so she couldn't see what had caught his attention. He managed to swallow before he asked if she'd like him to pick her up, as he was pretty sure if he wrapped his arms around her he'd do something incredibly stupid and she'd slap him.

Or stab him. She always had an extra dagger somewhere.

He pretended he didn't rather desperately want to strip her of her armor and find out where she hid them all. Among other things. _I am a bad, bad man_.

Instead he just tilted his head toward Leliana, and when Ingva,_ no, Brosca, call her Brosca, easier to remember she's not here for me to ogle_, nodded, proceeded to clear a path through the crowd.

It was only a short path to Leliana, who turned around and grinned and practically rubbed her hands together. "You must give this a try. It's delightful."

"For how much?" Ingva's eyebrows lifted halfway to her hair, and Alistair swallowed a chuckle behind his hand.

"Trust me."

Ingva snorted and rolled her eyes and nodded all at once, and Alistair couldn't help grinning in appreciation at the expression. Until he saw Leliana's eyes flash, an almost wicked tilt to her smile that meant she knew exactly what he was thinking. "And would you like to try one too, Alistair _dear_?"

Alistair coughed and shook his head and focused on Leliana haggling with the merchant rather than think about what he was thinking. One of these days his thoughts were going to get him in _so much trouble_.

"Now, you have to eat it quickly, or it melts, but not too quickly, or it makes your head hurt from the cold."

_Cold?_

Ingva's head tilted as she eyed the strange round whitish-pinkish lump in front of her, settled in some sort of pointy shell that looked rather hard and crunchy. _Like an overdone pie crust? Really thin cookies?_

"Go on." Leliana was grinning as she grabbed another one from the vendor. "You have to lick it. And then you eat the cone. Be careful, sometimes the bottom doesn't seal and it drips out the point."

Alistair was really trying to behave, but the moment he heard 'lick', and then saw the very tip of Ingva's tongue between her lips, he knew he was lost. The whatever it was made a pale smear across her tongue, visible for just a moment before she closed her mouth. Her eyes closed and her face eased and she _hummed_.

But it wasn't just a normal hum, it was low and throaty and soft and he suddenly wished he'd asked for a serving himself so he had something to do besides stare.

"Ancestors," her voice was a very soft sigh, and her eyes opened up again and she turned her head and grinned at him. "Oh, you have to try this Alistair, you do."

And then he couldn't really help imagining the sound she'd make if her treat did start to leak, and she had to put the point in her mouth, had to suck as the melting whatever-it-was dripped down her throat...

"uhisdfav?" Leliana giggled softly, as Alistair swallowed and shook his head. "I mean, uh, that's fine, I'm fine, will you excuse me please? Wouldn't want Scabbler to get lo-, uh, try and bring home another foundling, right? Right."

He could feel his skin burning as he turned and fled, and it certainly wasn't from the heat.

_Maker, I'm an idiot._


End file.
